There's a Thunder in our Hearts
by AppleJackDaniels
Summary: Based off of the tumblr prompt: "I would love to read a realistic CS smut. you know, with Emma worrying about if her legs are tweezed enough or/and Killian bumps against something or doesn't put his manhood at the right place the first try or/and them laughing and being awkwardly cute jfc".


_**A/N:** So this was written in response to a tumblr post from colinodonorgasm that reads as follows:_

_"I would love to read a **realistic** CS smut. __you know, with Emma worruing about if her legs are tweezed enough or/and Killian bump against something or dont put his manhood at the right place the first try or/and them laughing and being awkwardly cute jfc"_

_and I decided to take a stab at it. I initially intended for it to be a funny, quick little blurb but then it turned into this and I hope it works. Emilie, I don't know if this is what you were looking for, but it's the best I have to offer._

_I hope I don't disappoint. _

* * *

She's absolutely mortified.

This wasn't supposed to happen – or at least, it wasn't supposed to happen _like this. _In truth, Emma hadn't been planning on sailing high on the seven seas with the recently retired captain (who gave his ship – his _home _– up for her, Emma remembers as a thrill of butterflies stir in her chest) this early in their still-not-sure-what-exactly-this-is-but-I-think-I-like-it relationship. But he'd surprised her by showing up unannounced at her door step, bottle of rum in hand, armed with his lethal smirk. They'd tossed back a few drinks, toasting to their good fortune, their shared heroism in preventing a catastrophic collapse in the space-time continuum, and then one thing lead to another, a stolen, chaste kiss pressed against her lips somehow turned into a tangle of limbs and clacking teeth as they explored their synchrony, struggling to find their rhythm.

Emma wasn't sure exactly _how _she planned on their first coupling occurring (not that she had thought of it, no, of course not) but it certainly wasn't anything like this.

He pushes himself against her, rolling his hips as he presses her into the sofa. The friction is a sweet, delicious thing and her body responds instantly as she arches into him, pressing her body flush against his so every inch of him is covering every inch of her. Dipping his head, he runs his nose along hers, mouthing at her lips without giving her the satisfaction of a kiss. His breath is shuddering and panting, washing over her face in hot bursts as they breathe the same air. Desire burns in her veins, liquid fire coursing through her body, making her fingertips buzz, her walls clench, her toes tingle. She wants him, Emma can't deny, her propensity for him only growing as time passes, a new addiction she can't sate. It was almost terrifying at first, the way she'd come to rely on him, to count on him – his steady presence, his unwavering faith in her, his interminable support. Trust was a thing that didn't come easily for her, something that had to be earned a thousand times over, and yet here she was, here _he _was, the princess and the pirate. She smiles internally, musing over the ponderous romance that was budding in its infancy. They were their very own cliché.

A flare of anxiety blossoms in the back of her mind as his fingers slip under shirt, drumming a tantalizing tune against the taut skin of her abdomen. He drags a slow line up her ribcage, fingertips grazing her skin as he explores her body. Killian's touch is electric, her nerves buzzing and tingling with excitement, and it's nearly overwhelming, the emotions he stirs in her something she's unaccustomed to. Slowly trailing his hand up, he teases the swell of her breast with a wide sweep of his thumb, the thin barrier of her bra doing little to diminish the jolt of fire it sends straight to her sex.

_Oh god. _

It's in this moment that Emma groans to herself, regret flooding her mind as she thinks of her bra, a tattered old thing she wears on her frumpy days when she lounges around the apartment, the one she dons when the rest are in the wash. It's a simple thing and inelegant in the most unimpressive of ways – the flesh colored fabric fraying at the edges of the straps from a few months too many of use; the cups having long since lost their shape – and Emma is cursing at herself because it's undoubtedly the "least sexy bra" she owns.

Don't even get her started on her underwear. She's hoping she's able to slip them off when her jeans come down, safely hidden from his view. Really, had she known this was going to happen, she would have planned better, matching her bra to her underwear, the nice red lacy pair she-

Her worries leave her mind when Killian bites at her shoulder, as if sensing her disconnect from the moment, and Emma slams back into herself. Her breath hitches and her head lolls to the side as his mouth skims across her collarbone, biting the skin punishingly before laving the wounds with his tongue. The dread flees as lust consumes her; his hand runs down her back before he plays with the seam of her shirt, slowly inching it up her body, and she savors the feel of his warm hand as it brushes across her ribs. He's barely lifted the shirt up and over her head before Emma sits up and reaches behind her back to unfasten her bra, her arms moving quickly as they slip out of the straps, and she tosses the offensively embarrassing garment somewhere across the room safely out of sight. Emma doesn't even need to look at Killian to know he's smirking, misinterpreting her eagerness to disrobe as impatience to have him. She's perfectly content to let him think that.

Sitting back, Killian kneels between her legs and looks down on her, his eyes leaving a burning trail of sensation in the wake of his appraising gaze. He soaks her in, eyes wandering over her bared torso as he commits the sight to memory, and Emma can't help the thrum of excitement that courses through her body, her heart beating a staccato tattoo against her chest.

"You are a vision, Emma," he whispers with wonderment and awe, more to himself than her, as if he's still in disbelief that this is reality and not some cruel figment of his imagination, a dream he's expecting to wake from at any moment. His eyes sparkle with mischief and some emotion that Emma is scared to put voice to as he lays his hand flat on her hip, drawing it up her side. Cupping her breast, he kneads the soft flesh as he brushes her nipple with his palm. He places his injured arm to her side and leans over her, sucking a branding mark onto her neck, his lips burning everywhere they touch, and he slants his mouth against hers.

The anxiety returns.

Their mouths part and Emma frets because sure, they'd shared stolen kisses under the moonlight at Granny's and maybe one or two in diner when they thought no one was looking, but that was kissing and it was all lips and this… She wonders how much tongue she should use, if he prefers to dance their duet in his mouth or hers. Because if there's anything that Emma's learned about men and their kissing, it's that some prefer to fuck with their tongues as they struggle to taste your tonsils while others prefer the barely-there contact and soft brushes, focusing more on lips and teeth than tongues and dueling. It serves as a pleasant surprise when his tongue slides against hers, a quick lick before he gently pulls away, and Emma hopes to herself that he's just as nervous as she is.

He smiles at her then, a dimple forming in cheek as his eyes dart down to her lips. Emma's heart swells because it's warm and inviting and disarming and she's terrified, _god _is she _terrified, _because she trusts that smile, trusts _him. _He kisses her again with a slight thrust of his hips, a low groan tearing from the back of his throat at the clothed contact. It's a beautiful sound and she's impatient to hear it again. Their kisses become more urgent and passionate, and Emma feels like a hormonal teenager all over again as her hand wraps around the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair before tugging gently, pressing their mouths more firmly together.

Killian nips at her lower lip, rolling it between his teeth as she moans against his mouth, and she pushes their centers together, his arousal protesting against the confines of his trousers. She claws at his shirt with frantic hands, her fingers trying and failing to solve the inexplicable puzzle of his buttons, aching to feel him flush under her touch, desperate to explore more of his skin and feel the slide of his chest against hers. She feels more than hears the throaty chuckle rumbling from low in his chest, and she's intoxicated by the melody and feel of it, the vibrations from the sound sending shivers down her spine. Emma is lost in him; the salty smell of the sea and leather consumes her senses as the world falls away from her, slipping out from under her feet and sending her reeling into his arms. It's a comfortable place, her own little oasis of happiness, and she cocoons herself in the warmth of his presence, melting away a lingering coldness around her heart she hadn't even known existed.

And these damnable buttons that refuse to be unfastened, the elusive plastic besting her. She feels childish and foolish because she's not lacking for experience, usually making quick work of them with a practiced hand, and now she must look the utter fool.

"Need help there, Swan?" he teases in a breathy whisper, his tongue darting out to lick at the shell of her ear before nibbling gently. She doesn't trust herself to respond, her voice lost in some other realm because she's forgotten how to speak and words have forfeited all meaning in the wake of his aura. Instead, she nods bashfully as she gnaws on the corner of her mouth, and she can't look him in the eye because they're just _buttons _and it's embarrassing.

He's amused by her reaction, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he beings to unfasten the daunting buttons. The shirt is barely parted before Emma presses her hands into his chest, her fingers splaying through the dusting of hair. She feels the play of his muscles under his skin as he stretches his arms and pulls them free of his sleeves, dropping the shirt to the ground without ceremony. He growls when she scratches her way down his chest before wrapping her arms around his waist to pull him impossibly closer to her, and she relishes in the light scrape of his chest hair as it drags across her nipples. It's not nearly enough, both of them far too clothed for her satisfaction.

As if on cue, Killian's fingers drift down her torso, skipping across her skin before settling at the waist band of her jeans. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation of his thumb digging into the dip of her hip, massaging gently as she whines against his lips, unconsciously lifting her body to meet his touch. With a deft flick of his fingers, he snaps the fastening to her pants, pressing his palm down above the apex of her sex as his fingers slide down, slipping beneath the barrier of her panties.

Her eyes flash open as his hand ventures further, and she frets because she... well, she hasn't exactly been keeping routine maintenance. Sure, she kept herself trimmed and neat when she was with Walsh and had a steady supply of sex, but that'd been _months_ ago. When the promise of physical pleasure was no longer a certainty, the desire to constantly tweeze and trim suddenly disappeared, and now she's mortified. Emma was by no means unkempt, but neither was she perfectly groomed. With a slight wiggle of her hips, she tries to shimmy away from his touch, feeling suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious.

What if he prefers his women shaven and bare? Or a slight dusting of downy hair to give the illusion of naturalness that belied the grueling pain of time spent tweezing and shaving and waxing?

He senses her discomfort and concern flashes across his face, crinkling in the corner of his eyes as his lips turn down into a slight frown. Intensely blue eyes scan her face, searching for answers to the unspoken question of her hesitancy, and he withdraws from her, his hand swiftly retracting from her jeans. She misses the feel of his hand against her the moment it's gone, aching to feel him in the place she needs him most.

"Emma, we don't have to do anything you don't want to, love," he speaks lowly and she hears the sincerity in his words. Her throat clenches at the guilt she sees woven into his features.

"N-no, it's, ah, it's not that," she winces at the uncertainty of her stuttering words because it _isn't _that she doesn't want this – doesn't want _him _– but she's only a woman and she can't help that she thinks too much, her mind riddled with anxieties and worries because what if _she _isn't what _he _wants.

"I won't take that which isn't freely given to me, Emma. If what we're doing is making you uncomfortable, you need but say the word and I'll stop."

She doesn't want him to stop, she truly doesn't, but she's afraid. Afraid because her bra is hideous and her panties don't match, afraid because she has pubic hair and it's been impressed upon her that it is gross, but she's mostly afraid because she knows that what they're about to do – what she _wants _to do – will be making love. For a fleeting moment, Emma misses the candor of one-night stands and quick fucks, and she laments that she hadn't appreciated the simplicity of shucking off your clothing and caring for nothing else than a quick release, because this – this nameless thing flourishing between them – was so much more. It was exhilarating and frightening all at once.

The lines in this throat jump as his jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together as he swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly with the movement. He's shaking, his arms slightly trembling around her because she still hasn't said anything and he worries that he's offended her, pushed at her boundaries, took it just that little bit too far. Killian can't look at her and he tears his gaze away in shame and regret, and it breaks her heart. Bringing her hand to his face, she cups his cheek, her thumb tracing the soft line of his scar, and she smiles at him in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. She angles his face to hers and forces him to look at her, and for a moment the breath is stolen from her lungs because his eyes are fierce and intense (she can actually _see _the feelings she stirs in him reflecting in his irises, his eyes holding no lies as the blue depths of the calming sea swirl with an emotion she refuses to identify) and he's simply stunning.

Emma marvels for a moment because he's here, like he would always be there for her, and she wonders why he seems to love her so because she knew she was anything but easy to love.

And then finally, _finally, _she finds her voice amidst her hesitations, deciding in this moment, this silent moment where thousands of yet unspoken words flowed between them, that this is what she wants, that he is who she wants, and she no longer feels scared, her unruly bush and ugly bra be damned.

"Really, Killian, I'm okay. I _do _want this. It just takes a minute to get used to, you know? It all just seems so… so surreal. Like a dream."

"If this is a dream, then it's a dream I hope to never wake from."

She laughs and it feels good, the sound chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt and diffidence. "That has got to be the cheesiest line I've ever heard."

The smile he gives her is wolfish and playful and there's a certain sparkle in his eye, his concerns washing away as she toys with the charm of his necklace. If he's about to speak, Emma doesn't grant him the opportunity as she tugs firmly on his pendant, pulling him down to her. She feels his smile brush against hers and she loves how right it feels, uncaring that their teeth clack together amid their matching grins.

With a light scratch against his cheek, his stubble catching on her fingernails, she trails her hand down his body to cup him through his jeans. He shudders above her, his forehead falling to her chest and his breath wavers. With an inward smile of self-satisfaction, she palms his erection with a firm squeeze and a quick stroke. Emma will forever deny that she was secretly measuring his girth, making a quick mental assessment as to his size, and lumping him somewhere near the "average" category.

He kisses a path along her collarbone, licking a wet trail from her clavicle to her areola, and he draws her pert nipple into his mouth, laving the tender bud with his tongue and a slight scrape of his teeth. She gasps at the wet heat and thrusts her chest into her mouth, his ministrations to her breast linked directly to her sex, her walls clenching with a sudden rush of arousal. Emma moans despite herself, her cheeks painted red at her over-stimulation, and she tangles her hand in his hair, enjoying the coarse feel of his thick strands between her fingers. Drawing random circles around her nipple with his tongue, he shifts his weight so he can settle himself between her thighs and brings his free hand to her other breast, lightly twisting and pulling at her nipple. Warmth pools between her legs and a familiar dampness settles in her underwear as he thrusts against her, his clothed erection granting her the barest of friction against her clit. Her desperation grows, eager to abate the emptiness she feels inside, aching to feel him slip inside of her and brush himself against the most intimate parts of her. With one last suck and a quick flick of his tongue, Emma tugs at his hair to raise his head and she inhales sharply at the sight debauched of him – his swollen, kiss-bruised lips; his hooded eyes, darkened with lust; the tinge of pink that flushed the tips of his ears and the apple of his cheeks.

She moves to lower her pants, taking careful consideration to hook her thumbs through her panties to remove them all in one fell swoop.

Emma isn't certain she'll ever be comfortable enough to let Killian witness her in her lounging underwear.

The pirate matches her movements, resting his weight on his prosthesis as his fingers work on his trousers, and she can't resist the urge to take a peek, her curiosity getting the best of her, wondering if his sex was just as hairy as the rest of him. Her brow crinkles for a moment after he's exposed, cock springing free from its jean-clad prison, and it takes her a moment to realize that he's uncircumcised. Eyes widening with the realization, she eyes his swollen, purple head and the extra layer of skin wrapped around his penis.

She'd never been with a man that was uncut before and now she's feeling uncertain all over again because this was uncharted territory. How much pressure should she apply with her hand while she strokes him? She should loosen her grip to keep the sheath from slip-sliding too much? Or was that kind of thing enjoyable? Jesus _fuck_, why hadn't she ever been with a man with an uncircumcised penis before? At least then she'd have something to go off of, some basic knowledge of the distinctive differences between the cut and uncut. Or were there any differences? Maybe it didn't even matter.

_Goddammit_. She should've read more Cosmo.

She realizes she's been staring for too long because now _he _looks self-conscious, his body shrinking in on itself at her lingering scrutinization. Guilt blossoms in her chest at the way he tenses with insecurity, the tips of his ears burning with the rouge of his embarrassment. The thought strikes her that maybe circumcision is a practice unique to her realm and she frets because now she's worried he's mistaken her prolonged stare as a critique of his size and not her own inexperience with a natural penis.

Emma is irritated with herself; she's thinking too much and it's distracting and ruining the moment and the whole thing is going to be one giant mess of awkward if she can't learn to get out of her own head, if even only for the moment. Reaching between them, her hand finds his cock and she swipes her thumb over the head, spreading the small beads of precome that had gathered there. With a few experimental strokes, she tests the heavy weight of him in her grasp, measuring the give of skin as her hand slides up and down.

His moan is wrecked and wanton as he thrusts into her fist. Grabbing a handful of hair, he yanks her head crudely back to expose the long column of her throat to him, biting and kissing at her neck, whispering dirty, carnal secrets against her skin. It's too much and not enough at the same time, and she closes her eyes at the velvety head gliding underneath her fingers, the damp heat of his mouth at her pulse point. Her heart flutters when his breath ghosts across her jaw, stealing a kiss from her lips as his tongue slides into her mouth, matching the thrusts of his hips. He wraps his long fingers around her jaw, digging his fingertips into her skin as they wander down her body, lingering for a moment in the nest of hair above her center, teasing her with his lingering, explorative touch.

Her back bows when his fingers finally make contact with her clit, dipping between her folds to gather her wetness before drawing long, loose circles around her swollen arousal. She barely hears him above the deafening roar of her heartbeat in her ears, the tenor of his broken words and husky voice reverberating through his chest and it's all Emma can do to keep from crying out his name and she presses her body against his.

"So wet for me, Emma," he moans into her cheek, the scruff of his jaw scraping deliciously against her skin.

Her voice abandons her, leaving her breathless and panting as he works at her, experimenting with different strokes and varying levels of pressure as he learns her body's wants. Wrapping her arms around his back, she claws at his shoulders when he discovers her sweet spot. He gives a small sound of satisfaction, growling when she leaves what she's certain are bloodied half-mooned indentations in his back.

Stars dance behind her eyelids and Emma can't remember when she closed them. Reality disappears as her orgasm builds, the only thing in existence is the feel of his body on hers, his fingers thrusting in and out of her, his thumb circling her clit, his labored breath washing hot over her chest. She arches into him as her pleasure coils tightly in her gut, everything stilling for a fraction of a second, the calm before the storm, before the band snaps and her release ricochets through every inch of her body. Goosebumps rise on her skin as she clutches at his shoulders, scrambling for purchase as the world falls away, and she's holding onto him as if he's the only thing tethering her to this plane.

Words are falling from her lips and she can only hope it's just his name being repeated in reverence, her voice falling on deaf ears as she comes down from her high, body tingling wildly with the afterglow of her orgasm. He kisses her fiercely, hungrily, and slowly draws his hand away from her sensitive core, wiping the evidence of her release on her side as he holds her steadily, lining himself with her entrance. Her fingers dig into the muscled flesh of his ass and she pulls him close to her, lightly thrusting her hips against his, aching more than ever to feel him inside of her.

Killian meets her thrusts, but her wetness coats him and he slides past her opening, the tip of his penis poking at the ring of her ass. Emma yelps with surprise and jerks away from him, the mistaken unwelcome intrusion sending a jolt of discomfort through her. Retracting quickly, he fumbles as he struggles to recompose himself after the gaffe, mumbling apologies as he frantically moves away from her. She can't help herself, a bubble of laughter burrowing in her chest, and she's trying hard not to smile at his flustered demeanor. The more she tries to contain the laughter, the stronger the threat grows, and he's desperately trying to hide the blush that's ascending his cheeks, rubbing anxiously at his mouth as if to scrub the embarrassment away.

"Emma, I-I didn't mean… it was an accident. I hadn't meant for… I'm sorry," he spouts apology after apology and she can see the humiliation wrapping around him like a glove. It was amusing to see the usually well-spoken, suave pirate (always prepared with a quip perched at the tip of his tongue) rendered speechless through his embarrassment, a sight she never wondered to behold.

The awkwardness of the situation proves to be too much, the bob of his erection against her thigh as he tries again, missing his intended target by inches in his frazzled state, and the giggles pour out of her mouth against her bidding. His head snaps up to her when the sound escapes her, and Emma firmly clamps her hand around her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her fit of laughter.

His eyes narrow for a moment in irritation, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth together, and her body is shaking underneath him as the laughter continues.

"Killian, I'm sorry. I really am. I'm not laughing at you, I promise," she manages between shuddering breaths, her cheeks burning with the effort to try and quell the humored smile parting her lips. "It's just… this whole thing. I mean, it's great, don't get me wrong, but I never thought it would be this… this…" she pauses for a moment, waving a hand between them as if to pluck the word she sought from the air, "…this _awkward. _We're so bad at this._"_

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his lowers his forehead to hers and it isn't long before she feels the slight shake of his shoulders against her, his former embarrassment fading as he laughs with her. "Only from you would that phrase not be insulting."

"Because it's not insulting! There's definitely a learning curve involved when you first get intimate with someone. I'd forgotten that it can be somewhat… ungraceful."

"Ungraceful?!" he repeated in mocking disapproval. "Love, I can assure you, my sexual prowess is anything but ungraceful."

"You sure about that, pirate?" she teases him, and he returns her retort with a feigned scowl.

They take a moment to let their shared laughter run its course, and the last flare of anxiety flees from her at the naturalness of it all. It warms her heart, the way they can laugh together even during such an intimate act, and she knows then that if she can trust him enough to laugh at their sexual misfortunes, then this could truly be the start of something beautiful, where there was no pretense, no status quo, no forced or faked emotion.

Their chuckles subside, the lingering glow of his amusement painted on his features. For the first time, Emma notices the spindling trail of laugh lines that crinkle the corner of his eyes, and she loves those lines, the proof of his happiness and laughter and joy. She brushes them with the pad of her finger, smoothing out the lines with a fond smile and cups his cheek.

And damn it all, Emma loves him. He found his home deep in her heart, in some heavily guarded recess she was loathe to give anyone access to, and she has a hard time admitting that it isn't quite so horrible and terrifying as she told herself it would be. She isn't entirely certain when that had happened, but in this moment, Emma couldn't be bothered to care because it feels natural, it feels right, and she feels happy.


End file.
